yokomolotov - Hello Poetry

his heart bled into the ground he held me and whispered in ****** liquor sighs go on guapa as long as there’s one of us there’s both of us and I shook like a rabbit in twilight’s snare and begged him don’t go don’t go a chant as old as old as my bones together, once we felt the earth move it shook in the late spring morning and I he warmed my feet in the sack when the night was a vacuum he spilled his seed on the ground like some biblical walk on and we lived an entire life an entire life in three days three days of coughing and struggling to stay still in the winters dull and stingy light from a pale pale pane in Indiana is it safe to give my _____ to you? It’s never safe, I roughly handed it to you and you felt it’s shadow every since with your busted femur and long trailing stain resenting the self-made patricide bleeding out on the gray beast I’m taken the little rabbit with a black scar saving myself from the tangled mar that you now have fallen If I go on we both go on

0

May 8, 2015

May 8, 2015 at 4:37 PM UTC

If It Were April Fools, 1939

his heart bled into the ground he held me and whispered in ****** liquor sighs go on guapa as long as there’s one of us there’s both of us and I shook like a rabbit in twilight’s snare and begged him don’t go don’t go a chant as old as old as my bones together, once we felt the earth move it shook in the late spring morning and I he warmed my feet in the sack when the night was a vacuum he spilled his seed on the ground like some biblical walk on and we lived an entire life an entire life in three days three days of coughing and struggling to stay still in the winters dull and stingy light from a pale pale pane in Indiana is it safe to give my _____ to you? It’s never safe, I roughly handed it to you and you felt it’s shadow every since with your busted femur and long trailing stain resenting the self-made patricide bleeding out on the gray beast I’m taken the little rabbit with a black scar saving myself from the tangled mar that you now have fallen If I go on we both go on

57

It is September, Summer is over, I’ve spent it all With a fever pitch of Mania, And a long humid dream Of murmurs The season was made of Whispers, Secrets Wrapping my legs around with a Studied ****** precision I knew the beautiful delicate thing Was gone And now I walked Demolished Summer, gone

0

Mar 17, 2015

Mar 17, 2015 at 4:09 PM UTC

Summer, gone

It is September, Summer is over, I’ve spent it all With a fever pitch of Mania, And a long humid dream Of murmurs The season was made of Whispers, Secrets Wrapping my legs around with a Studied ****** precision I knew the beautiful delicate thing Was gone And now I walked Demolished Summer, gone

16

I couldn't taste a thing until I found my tongue’s native soil until I buried you alive and preserved you in the mountains of my mind I couldn't see a thing until I lost the thing I sought after until I noticed you alive and drowned you in the rivers of my mind I couldn't hear a thing until I found the undercurrent of your words until I forced you alive and smothered you in the caverns of my mind I couldn't smell a thing until I found your body ripe with hesitation until I perceived you alive and manipulated you in the wind of my mind I couldn't feel a thing until I found the merit of lust until I ate you alive and sunk into you in the soil of my mind

0

Mar 3, 2015

Mar 3, 2015 at 6:30 PM UTC

I couldn't feel a thing

I couldn't taste a thing until I found my tongue’s native soil until I buried you alive and preserved you in the mountains of my mind I couldn't see a thing until I lost the thing I sought after until I noticed you alive and drowned you in the rivers of my mind I couldn't hear a thing until I found the undercurrent of your words until I forced you alive and smothered you in the caverns of my mind I couldn't smell a thing until I found your body ripe with hesitation until I perceived you alive and manipulated you in the wind of my mind I couldn't feel a thing until I found the merit of lust until I ate you alive and sunk into you in the soil of my mind

25

an eye anchored with a thick angry thorn I found you breathing sick sick sick you got it bad the tidal looms the title is taboo and you scurry from it like a waxy back roach and I chew myself whittle myself to nothing the stone yard of broken teeth old names to reuse he told me the joy he had with me is greater than the sadness he had alone spoke on the edge of sleep I recorded it because I knew I would forget it and I did and that thorn that anchor is all I have for show it’s my lone memento

0

Mar 3, 2015

Mar 3, 2015 at 6:29 PM UTC

thorn

an eye anchored with a thick angry thorn I found you breathing sick sick sick you got it bad the tidal looms the title is taboo and you scurry from it like a waxy back roach and I chew myself whittle myself to nothing the stone yard of broken teeth old names to reuse he told me the joy he had with me is greater than the sadness he had alone spoke on the edge of sleep I recorded it because I knew I would forget it and I did and that thorn that anchor is all I have for show it’s my lone memento

23

I miss the dying light from our footsteps- I miss the sound of our heels followed by the evening’s color, so honest it's hard to behold, a life so unreal that sleep serves as a release- I miss the dying light in lashes, in curls as a testament- I miss my own stoic profile hindering passion, emphasizing restraint- I miss the invisible barrier that made you tight, close- I miss the secret that made you a forbidden- I miss the stutter in your night tide the smile in your day walk I miss your digesting of my words- staring.

0

Feb 24, 2015

Feb 24, 2015 at 5:25 PM UTC

Untitled

I miss the dying light from our footsteps- I miss the sound of our heels followed by the evening’s color, so honest it's hard to behold, a life so unreal that sleep serves as a release- I miss the dying light in lashes, in curls as a testament- I miss my own stoic profile hindering passion, emphasizing restraint- I miss the invisible barrier that made you tight, close- I miss the secret that made you a forbidden- I miss the stutter in your night tide the smile in your day walk I miss your digesting of my words- staring.

25

Find constructed love a piecemeal beauty on those winding roads toward Memphis within rolling hills of kudzu the south, of red roads black birds and white in the swamp a shock cotton fields span quiet, still the machines sleeping the sun seeping the car were in, **** covered streaming tall black and pastel along cars friendly I also saw a prison carved in a hill side along a skinny road, Mississippi barb wire gem stone shine white sign, do not pick up hitch hikers the humidity, heavy guilt on dried clay boiled peanuts sightseeing in a crime scene

0

Feb 13, 2015

Feb 13, 2015 at 2:45 PM UTC

The South

Find constructed love a piecemeal beauty on those winding roads toward Memphis within rolling hills of kudzu the south, of red roads black birds and white in the swamp a shock cotton fields span quiet, still the machines sleeping the sun seeping the car were in, **** covered streaming tall black and pastel along cars friendly I also saw a prison carved in a hill side along a skinny road, Mississippi barb wire gem stone shine white sign, do not pick up hitch hikers the humidity, heavy guilt on dried clay boiled peanuts sightseeing in a crime scene

28

can I read you some of my poems? behind you face, your cringing from the corner of your eye you’re looking for an escape but I’ve already dragged you to a booth in the bar, and I got you alone and you feel the unease rising and there’s nowhere to run you’re stuck and I’m pulling out my little poetry book with the fairy on the cover and I have you alone, all to myself and I’m sharpening the rusted tools of torture so squirm here come the words they’re bouncing off your glazed eyes and you feel every one they’re hard to make out over the bar racket but the ones you can make out are I, He, My, Miss, Love, Death, Lament and Autumn Leaves the words inspire, the nagging need for more gin a bullet free from its chamber splatter brain bits a death letter or for someone to save you and over the slur of my tired lines you see your friends safely ignoring you in a group holding beer torches miles and miles away they’re laughing and you hate them because you’re stuck with me and I won’t stop no end in sight I have so much feeling that I want you to know about not enough gin your face hurts from smiling your head hurts from nodding a hostage’s sentiment and then I ask, what do you think?

0

Jan 16, 2015

Jan 16, 2015 at 11:01 AM UTC

Untitled

can I read you some of my poems? behind you face, your cringing from the corner of your eye you’re looking for an escape but I’ve already dragged you to a booth in the bar, and I got you alone and you feel the unease rising and there’s nowhere to run you’re stuck and I’m pulling out my little poetry book with the fairy on the cover and I have you alone, all to myself and I’m sharpening the rusted tools of torture so squirm here come the words they’re bouncing off your glazed eyes and you feel every one they’re hard to make out over the bar racket but the ones you can make out are I, He, My, Miss, Love, Death, Lament and Autumn Leaves the words inspire, the nagging need for more gin a bullet free from its chamber splatter brain bits a death letter or for someone to save you and over the slur of my tired lines you see your friends safely ignoring you in a group holding beer torches miles and miles away they’re laughing and you hate them because you’re stuck with me and I won’t stop no end in sight I have so much feeling that I want you to know about not enough gin your face hurts from smiling your head hurts from nodding a hostage’s sentiment and then I ask, what do you think?

40

I am still waiting for her to call me but her cell phone is dead and I have it and it once flashed like a beacon from the pigeon hole of my desk her house keys are still in my bag I’ve been carrying them ever since and If I wanted to I could imagine that her spirit is locked in that vacant cluttered mess or under the phone’s locked keys instead I hold, look and dread and when not doing that I evade

0

Jan 14, 2015

Jan 14, 2015 at 10:43 AM UTC

Untitled

I am still waiting for her to call me but her cell phone is dead and I have it and it once flashed like a beacon from the pigeon hole of my desk her house keys are still in my bag I’ve been carrying them ever since and If I wanted to I could imagine that her spirit is locked in that vacant cluttered mess or under the phone’s locked keys instead I hold, look and dread and when not doing that I evade

14

under the glint of a hook of a pale moon from a black pane in a white room the place the pace and the pierce that welcomed honor and cherished allure the cold thought and night like a mirror

0

Nov 11, 2014

Nov 11, 2014 at 1:57 PM UTC

Pale Hook Reminds Me

under the glint of a hook of a pale moon from a black pane in a white room the place the pace and the pierce that welcomed honor and cherished allure the cold thought and night like a mirror

15

Sculpted by the wind- bent back and black, sprouted high planted on a curving road. Sea on the shoulder beat back with conifer on the left twisted and gnarled, I’ve seen it sculpted in faces. There are people sculpted by the wind. Who drive slow- who harbor a sorrow in a blonde slick back stream of high ravine- like a maze I’d give my life to be lost in, practicing refrain- walking a practiced gait- because oh the intensity! of being sculpted by the wind.

0

Oct 9, 2014

Oct 9, 2014 at 6:19 PM UTC

Sculpted by the wind

Sculpted by the wind- bent back and black, sprouted high planted on a curving road. Sea on the shoulder beat back with conifer on the left twisted and gnarled, I’ve seen it sculpted in faces. There are people sculpted by the wind. Who drive slow- who harbor a sorrow in a blonde slick back stream of high ravine- like a maze I’d give my life to be lost in, practicing refrain- walking a practiced gait- because oh the intensity! of being sculpted by the wind.

26